


Try

by Space_Samurai



Category: Daybreak (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Complicated Relationships, Hopeful Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 14:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: When he leaves the Jocks, Wesley takes Turbo with him.—though is more like kidnapping.
Relationships: Wesley Fists/Turbo Pokaski
Comments: 26
Kudos: 291





	Try

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all the support in my last Turbo/Wesley fic

He hadn’t known what to expect: the apocalypse didn’t come with a guide book, and if did, Wesley would have thrown it away before even removing the plastic wrap. Things would be fine, he had told himself during those first two weeks. Turbo, though now scarred and mute, was a natural leader. The jocks had rallied behind him and together they managed to turn the school into a fortress of sorts.

Many died during the first weeks. Wesley had never thought he’d actually make use of the katana he kept on his locker, it had come handy at the time to slice the former teachers in half. They were no longer common, rational adults; they had turned into bloodthirsty, zombified versions of themselves. The robotics team, before they became the STEM Punks, had taken to call them ‘Ghoulies’ and the rest had followed them.

Mona becomes Turbo’s second in command, Wesley doesn’t have it on himself to be jealous. He would have probably chosen her too. They work well together and the Jocks prosper. Eventually, other tribes come to them for supplies or alliance. Some are allowed to join the Jocks, like the golf team, others, end up under their command. Soon, the Disciples of Kardashia, the newly baptized STEM Punks and the 4H Club are required to pay tribute to the Jocks for _protection._

Up to there, Wesley had accepted the way the new world worked. It was only natural, that the strong would rise to conquer. Even as he justified every action to himself, guilt clawed at the back of his head, a voice whispering that he knew his actions were wrong and yet he didn’t stop.

The Ghoulies aren’t the only ones who kill during the apocalypse. Turbo had always been fiercely protective and the current conditions had only aggravated that unfortunate trait of his personality. Not for the better.

It begins with something as simple as a new pair of shoes.

There are no guards or cashiers at the stores anymore, so everything is fair game as long as you get there before anyone else. Unlike the rest of his tribe, Wesley doesn’t follow the Mad-Max dress code they have going on. No, the end of the world also meant the end of societal norms, so one of his first actions is to make himself a modern-street-samurai kind of look. He looks _fine_ on it, if he may add. He finishes the outfit by getting himself a nice pair of shoes that had been way too expensive for him to buy before the bombs.

Wesley knows he looks good. He feels Turbo’s eyes following him as he moves through the school and he has to keep a pleased smile to himself. Everybody knows that Wesley is gay, but Turbo isn’t completely out, so Wesley does the right thing and jumps his bones as soon as they find an empty room, not any time before.

Curtis Bedford’s only sin is to talk with him. It was a simple conversation: ‘ya think I should get a lip piercing?’ ‘No dude, that shit is gonna get infected’. The next day, Turbo impaled him on spikes. Nobody questioned his judgment, but Wesley had dared to ask why he had done that. Turbo hadn’t answered, he didn’t even try to bullshit and excuse for Wesley. He had just given a senseless grunt and went on his way to the yard.

Wesley had tried to reason with his conscience, maybe Curtis had been planning a coup or maybe he tried to steal some shit and got himself impaled for being an idiot and getting caught. It sounded weak to his own ears and it twisted his stomach in a painful way.

He blames it on the end of the world, on the weight of being the leader of the tribe and having to keep everyone safe. Safe from the Ghoulies and other tribes, but no one was safe from Turbo’s temper.

Curtis is the first and not the last.

Tom Harthen was a rock-star wannabe before the end of the world, during the apocalypse, he might have been Brian May himself. Kid had actual talent with the guitar and a pretty decent voice. He was the unbeaten champion of American Ninja Idol and most of the Jocks sincerely liked him. Wesley liked him too.

One day, right before another episode, Wesley crossed paths with him as the boy tuned his guitar for the show.

“Hey Fists!” He greeted with a gesture of his hand. “Nice shoes you got there.”

Wesley had been sneaking in and out of the school when he managed to escape Turbo’s watchful gaze, mainly searching for goods and other things to amuse himself. He had collected a decent amount of shoes, amongst others.

“Thanks,” he answered. “I can get you a pair the next time I go out, if you want me to.” He didn’t think much of the offer as it left his lips.

Tom gave him a bright smile, the kind that would have made his heart throb if he weren’t with Turbo. “Yes, thanks!”

He failed to see that they weren’t completely alone in the corridor. Later that day, Tom Harthen loses American Ninja Idol. Wesley hears the boy’s screams in his sleep and decides that this is the end of it. He weights his options and realizes that he can’t kill Turbo, but he can’t leave the man either. If Wesley were to leave, he’d be hunted by the Jocks and dragged back to suffer punishment.

Wesley Fists wasn’t a coward. He’d face destiny on a different manner.

He talks to no one for the following week. The kisses he shares with Turbo are sincere, but laced with bitterness. If the other notices, he doesn’t mention it.

Wesley finds an apartment, located far enough from the school and from the other tribe’s turfs, and fills it with stuff. Enough food and water to keep two people living for months. He finds chains and other restrictions, and brings them to the place. He makes sure not to raise any suspicions, he is always back at the school before anyone can say he’s been gone for too long. He is so tense that he doesn’t smoke at all. He brings his weed to the house and leaves it there too.

When the fated night comes, he asks Mona to cover up for Turbo. He tries his best conspiratorial smile with her and begs her to be in charge for the night so he can take Turbo out for dinner and have a good time. He makes sure to remark how it will be for the guy to release some of the tension he’s been bottling up since the world ended. Mona reads through the lines, exactly as Wesley had expected, and sharply agrees. She insists on them to be quick and discreet about it and to be back before dawn. Wesley kisses her cheek and sprints away before she can regret it or punch him in the face for daring.

He feels only slightly guilty for lying to Mona, the guilt he feels for Curtis and Tom is heavier. Nevermind the one he feels for Emmet.

It takes nothing to convince Turbo, just a promise and a seductive smile. Wesley can tell he’s been missed and Turbo is eager to get some privacy. Tribes are fun and all, but the space gets crowded and one learns to appreciate the quiet moments.

They share canned ravioli in the parking lot of Chipotle’s and they drink Mountain Dew. Wesley makes most of the conversation, he can’t shut up when he’s nervous and Turbo can only grunt and groan in response. The truth about this little escapade comes out when Turbo is done with drinking his second bottle.

Wesley sets aside his own untouched bottle before speaking.

“You and I, we’ve been due for a conversation.” Turbo’s eyes tell him how eager he is for this. “Curtis Bedford. Tom Harthen.” Wesley took a deep breath. “What the fuck man?” The quiver in his voice betrays how mad he is.

Turbo grunts. _We are not talking about this. _He looks to the side and Wesley isn’t sure if it is because he is ashamed or if he is just avoiding the subject.

“The hell we are.” It’s easier out here, where there’s just them. No backup Jocks, no audience for Turbo to perform. Wesley doesn’t fear him, for all his faults, Turbo would never hurt him. “You killed those kids because they _talked _to me.”

Turbo turns violently, a grave sound leaving his throat. _They were flirting with you!_

“Curtis Bedford was screwing one of the Cheermazons! He was straighter than ruler. I don’t know about Tom—but that ain’t the point here!” Wesley rubbed his eyes. “I was with you, you fucking jerk. God could have flirted with me and I would have said: _no thanks, taken_.”

“You didn’t have to kill them.” He continued. “You are the worst jealous asshole I’ve ever met.” _That doesn’t mean I don’t love you._

Turbo had the decency to look ashamed, a fleeting shade of regret obscuring his eyes. It was soon gone and his hand landed on Wesley’s knee, ready to make the peace with him. Wesley pushed it away. “No, sucking my dick isn’t gonna make me forget it.”

Turbo whined. _I’m sorry._ It sounded sincere enough, but being sorry wouldn’t keep him from doing it again. His eyes were glassy.

Wesley sighed, caressing the burnt side of his face. Turbo trembled against him, hands moving to Wesley’s hips. His grip was weak, wavering. A noise of frustration escaped the man.

“I’m sorry too man… I’m sorry that you just drank enough sedative to bring down a baby elephant in that nasty ass Mt. Dew.” Turbo’s eyes widened. “To be fair, you weight more or less the same as one.”

Turbo slept like a baby.

* * *

The lack of yelling let him know something was seriously wrong. Turbo had grown used to the sound of Mona’s voice for a wake-up alarm. The world might be over, but that’s no excuse to be lazy and lose all the discipline he had acquired over the years. The classrooms were stripped of all desks and chairs to be used as common rooms, Mona would barge in at 8am to wake up all of the Jocks. She had her own private room, as did Turbo.

Wesley slept anywhere he felt like, meaning that he often crashed at Turbo's.

There was a dull ache behind his eyes, which he couldn't fully open. He was laying down on a soft bed, the upper part of his outfit was nowhere to be seen and Turbo couldn't figure out where he was, which immediately put him on edge. 

He tried to recall his last memories, he and Wesley had left the school for a little romantic escapade. That had shared some food and drink. Turbo blinked in the dark of the room. Did they drink any booze? It took a lot to get him drunk and even more to make him blackout to the point of forgetting things. He tried to rise on his elbows and a frustrated groan escaped his sore throat. He was restrained… by something. It was like when he first woke up after the bombs and could barely move an inch.

He started to trash around, futile noises emerging from him as he steadily grew frustrated. Where was Wesley? He’d usually be snoring quietly by Turbo’s side this early.

The sound of a door opening turned his head to the side. Turbo gave the loudest groan he could manage without hurting his throat. Whoever had put him in here better be ready to face the consequences when Turbo breaks out.

Light invades the bedroom and the person walks inside. The shape is worryingly familiar and Turbo’s fears are confirmed when the blinds are opened and the things become much clearer. There’s a wary expression in Wesley’s face, the faintest tint of guilt in his eyes.

Turbo grunts, loudly, once more. This time, it lasts longer.

Wesley only looks at him, waiting for Turbo to finish with his tantrum.

“Are you done with that?” He questions blankly. Turbo feels a stab of embarrassment, but he ignores it and growls at Wesley once more.

_What the hell Wesley?_

“I thought you might be thirsty. You were out for longer than I thought you would.” In his hands there’s a blue Gatorade, the kind that doesn’t has a cap and instead has a tip. Wesley moved closer to the bed and Turbo’s eyes narrow. “Come on man, just drink it.”

Turbo looks down his body, there are leather restrictions keeping him stuck to the headboard of the bed. Where he had gotten this? Wesley had better not raided a sex-shop for all this crap. He pulls his wrists, but they barely move an inch. The leader doesn’t hurt, but its grip isn’t weak either.

Since there’s no getting out, Turbo drinks from the bottle while Wesley holds it for him. Once he’s had enough, he pulls back and goes back to staring at Wesley. The

“So,” Wesley clapped his hands together. “You must want an explanation for…” He gestured at Turbo’s restrictions. “This.”

Turbo glared.

“The thing is: you are fucking insane babe. I don’t blame you, the apocalypse is pretty rough, our parents are dead and the teachers keep trying to eat us, plus you look like a melted marshmallow.” Wesley took a deep breath. “But that’s not an excuse to become an evil, jealous maniac.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of insight.” There really isn’t much else to do. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to stop you from being an evil, jealous maniac. Which I can’t do if you are out there leading a bunch of evil maniacs such as the Jocks.”

“So, I’ve decided to atone for my sins by keeping _you_ from committing any more sins. You following?”

Turbo growled.

* * *

The first week is all trial and error.

Wesley failed to remember that his captive-boyfriend was a human being and thus his necessities went a bit further than needing food and water. Like going to the bathroom, for example. He has to undo all the knots and let him go on the promise that he’ll be good, all while pointing at him with his unsheathed katana. He has seen Turbo’s dick many times, but he’s not a savage so he gives him privacy.

He hates having the other guy tied up. It makes Wesley feel like one of the creeps from Pulp Fiction. But it was that or breaking his ankles ala Katy Bates in Misery. Turbo is no idiot, Wesley is certain that as soon as he sees an opening, he’ll attack or escape. Or both.

He’s gone around the Jocks turf, there’s a massive search for them going on. Wesley wonders what Mona thinks of their disappearance. Does she thinks they’ve been killed by Ghoulies? Or she believes they’ve run away together like some star-crossed lovers? She won’t be finding them any time soon, that’s for sure. The apartment is way to near to the Cheermazons turf for her to engage. They might be the strongest tribe out there along with the Jocks.

Turbo tries to give him the cold shoulder, restricting his groans to _I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I need to piss _and _I need to take a shit. _Wesley sees that he wishes to say more, but he’s still pissed off about being tied to a bed all day. He’ll get over it, Wesley thinks.

The journey to redemption doesn’t has to be silent and boring, so Wesley gets a power generator and makes good use of the TV in Turbo’s room. He plays _The Way of the Dragon _and they watch Bruce Lee kick Chuck Norris’s ass. Wesley can almost pretend that this isn’t the apocalypse that he and Turbo are chilling at his place after practice. Then reality kicks him back on the face and he’s back at the end of the world.

Wesley likes to hear himself speaking, so he talks a lot.

“I think I’m going out there to get _Master of the Flying Guillotine _and _The One Armed Swordsman. _Want me to get you any of the Star Wars for you?”

“I think Mace Windu is a better swordsman than Anakin Skywalker.”

“A shame that the world ended and we never got to see the end of Game of Thrones. I bet it would have been the best season yet.”

“If you don’t say anything, we are watching Zatoichi again.”

Eventually, when he’s made every pop culture reference that he can think of, Turbo growls at him to shut up and get him Revenge of the Sith. Wesley carefully keeps his contentment at bay. They form a routine of sorts. They watch movies for most of the day, then Wesley prepares delicious dishes of canned food accompanied by Mt. Dew and Gatorade. He frees Turbo’s hands when he trusts him enough. Besides, Wesley is confident that he won’t be killed by a plastic fork.

They both lie on the bed together when they watch movies, but sleep separately. Turbo leans his head on Wesley’s shoulder and Wesley pretends he doesn’t notice the hand running through his hair. They don’t kiss nor cuddle, because there’s a clear power imbalance in their situation and Wesley won’t be venturing into that territory any time soon.

* * *

Nothing good ever lasts for long. Wesley notices that there’s alarming amount of Ghoulies in the neighborhood. He doesn’t go out much, so he mostly has no trouble with them, but it can’t get to the point in which he and Turbo get cornered by them.

Something becomes evident: they need to move. The question is _where_ and _how_ is he going to transport both the supplies and Turbo’s ass. Wesley wants to trust that two weeks of endless movies about how using one’s strength for evil isn’t right was enough to change Turbo’s heart. He is not that naïve, the second they leave the apartment, Turbo is gonna kick his ass and drag him back to the school.

It becomes a glaring need when a single Ghoulie manages to slip into the apartment complex. Wesley sees it by pure luck, as it wondered around, mumbling nonsense about some lost keys. With a slash of his katana, the head is gone and Wesley winces at the sound of it hitting the floor. He is a pacifist: he doesn’t like killing Ghoulies unless it’s absolutely necessary. He decides to bring his concerns to Turbo.

Wesley doesn’t miss the glint in his eyes as he mentions their need of a relocation.

“Can I trust you to _behave_?” Wesley conjures his sternest face. “For real, if you mess around, you are gonna get us both killed. The streets are swarming with hordes of Ghoulies.”

Turbo raised an eyebrow at him, looking mildly confused.

_Why didn’t you mention it?_

Wesley ignores it. “Can I trust you not to run like a headless chicken into the night?”

Turbo looked away. _No._

Wesley groaned, frustrated. “Why do you even want to go back? Killing kids makes you _that_ happy?” He desperately hoped that the answer was _no_.

Turbo grunted. _The kids need a leader. I am that leader. _

Wesley sighed. They had gone through this before. “You can’t lead the kids if you start killing the kids. Tom Harthen wasn’t a Jock, but Curtis was. You are just asking for them to overthrow your tyrannical ass.” Wesley searched for Turbo’s eyes. “Tell me something. And be honest. Why the hell did you kill them?” The question haunted him. “You were never this jealous before, so _why_.” He buried his face in his hands. “_Why the hell did you do it?”_

He could hear Turbo swallowing.

“I…didn’t…Want—“He coughed and Wesley looked up, blood was leaving his lips.

“Damn it!” He sat up, ready to go for some water, but Turbo pulled on the restrictions, extending his hand so he could stop Wesley.

“I… didn’t want… you to leave.”

“What?” He whispered.

The answer came in a pained groan. Luckily, Wesley spoke Turbo.

_I didn’t want you to leave. Everyone leaves._

Wesley froze. A lifetime ago, Turbo had told him about his father and his travels. Wesley had thought he was lying, a coping mechanism to deal with a deadbeat dad. It hadn’t been one.

It still didn’t make things right. There was still Emmet. Though Wesley knew that was on him and _only_ on him.

“I wouldn’t have— Fuck, Turbo.” _Fuck. _“Curtis Bedford asked me if he should get a lip piercing and Tom Harthen just liked my shoes. They weren’t asking me to run into the sunset with them, they were just being _nice._”

Turbo didn’t answer. Wesley stared in silence. He seemed younger without the mask, smaller without the shoulder pads. He looked more like the kid he actually was, and less like the Inmortan Joe image he had tried to convey. If Wesley were to take off the armor and leave the katana on the floor, he’s certain he’d look like a kid too.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, and I’m sure as hell not going to forget.” A shuddering breath escaped him. “But this is the end of the fucking world. Turbo, I don’t want to be your jailer and you don’t want to be my prisoner. I’m trying to atone for my sins here and if I can do it, so do you.”

Turbo only stared back.

“Come with me.” Wesley hated the sound of his own voice then, it sounded less like an offer and more like begging. “No chains, no Mad-Max shit, no more _jealous shit_. Just two warriors searching for redemption, guiding other lost souls through the wasteland.”

“I promise you, as long as I breathe, I won’t leave your side.”

A weak sound left the other boy.

_Do you hate me?_

“I have tried. But hating you and loving you at the same time is hard, and there’s one that I prefer over the other.”

I_ love you._

“I know.” Wesley told him. “But I can’t love someone I don’t trust, so you have to promise me you’ll _try. _If you want us to stay together: at least _try_.”

_I will. _His green eyes spoke, glistering with tears.

* * *

Life in the apocalypse is hard. The adults that aren’t dead are trying to eat you. Tribes of hormonal teenager now run the world. In between that, two former Jocks make their way through the wasteland.

In one hand, Wesley holds a map of the city.

“What do you think of the mall? Sounds like a nice place to crash.”

Turbo nods, squeezing his other hand.

Around them, the walls have been painted and written.

‘I’m here’ it reads on many.

“Who do you think they are?” Wesley inquired. Turbo shrugged. “Well, whoever they are, they might need some help. Let’s go find them!”

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing has consumed me.


End file.
